


Home Doesn't Have A Name

by dnwnchstr



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Friendship, Gen, Post-TWS, Tags Will Update As Story Progresses, possibly future romance, recovering bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 23:24:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5984257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dnwnchstr/pseuds/dnwnchstr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hasn't had a home for a long time. Maybe he'll find one again in the wake of a strong soldier recovering from a lifetime of trials and hardships.</p><p> </p><p>Note: This ignores the Civil War timeline and assumes a different one all together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Doesn't Have A Name

He’s sweaty and probably looks worse for wear when he gets back from running. Exertion is all that makes him feel like he exists anymore.

He steps through the door to his apartment, takes off his shoes. Left. Then right. Jacket’s next. It hangs on the little hook by the door, so does his keys.

Steve walks into the living room and lets himself fall onto the couch. He focuses on his breathing. One, two. One, two. Inhale, exhale. It’s slower than it was when he was younger, but his lungs are bigger now, too.

He should shower, but the sensation of the couch against him is what’s keeping him grounded. If he gets up, he might lose touch again. He’s lost it so much lately. He doesn’t really know how to deal with that yet, only to keep himself stimulated, so he doesn’t forget himself.

It’s really only seconds before he notices. There’s a figure standing in his hallway. Just standing there watching him. Not a hallucination. He doesn’t have those. He can’t have those, can he? No. He can’t.

Steve stiffens, makes eye contact with the figure standing there. He doesn’t want to acknowledge who it is. He really, really doesn’t. Familiar eyes and usually soft mouth pressed into a hard line. But, he has to say something, doesn’t he? They can’t just keep staring at each other like this.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes. This causes the figure to stiffen slightly. It seems like forever until the man takes a few steps into the room, jerkily and uncomfortably. The light from the window illuminates his face, shows the deep bruise that blossomed across his jaw. Steve inhales sharply.

“Are you injured? I have supplies,” he says. He tries to keep his body language as non-threatening as possible. Bucky shifts uncomfortably.

“Laceration on my right side,” he states, almost mechanically. That explains the way he’s walking. Steve gives him a once over, notices the way that he’s holding himself. He could be more injured than that. He doesn’t know. The hoodie that covers him is too big and over worn.

Steve pushes himself to his feet, watching Bucky stiffen like he’s on guard. He could hear his own heart breaking.

“You’re not going to get hurt,” he tells him. “I won’t hurt you.” Bucky nods, stiff and nervous. He moves towards the hallway that Bucky was just in, watching him uneasily. The knife at his thigh bothers him.

“It’s not for use on you,” Bucky interjects, gesturing to the knife. Steve swallows and then nods. He wonders briefly what kind of trouble he’d been in before he got here.

The blonde makes it into the bathroom and gestures to the edge of the tub once he knows that Bucky’s followed. The brunette complies and sits down, giving an uncomfortable wince at the movement. Steve inhales softly.

This can’t be real. He can hardly hold himself together as he grabs gauze and peroxide and other things from the medicine cabinet that hangs above the sink. He catches a glimpse of himself, wide eyed and panicky. No wonder Bucky seems nervous.

Steve refocuses on the task at hand, moving to kneel in the floor in front of him. Bucky watches him. A hand reaches out and Steve shivers at the feeling of surprisingly warm metal touching his skin.

“You don’t think I’m real,” Bucky murmurs. Steve smiles weakly. He’ll never stop wondering how Bucky knows exactly what he’s thinking. He always did know. The thought makes him want to cry.

“Can you lift up your shirt?” Steve asks softly. Instead, Bucky shifts and, wincing slightly, slips the hoodie off of his torso, resting it beside him on the edge of the tub. An angry red tear in his skin stretches across his right oblique, dried blood caked across the skin. Bruises mottle his skin here and there and there’s more than a few scratches that nick his skin.

He reaches for a towel and the peroxide. He braces it under the wound and with a gentle warning, pours the peroxide across the wound. Bucky hisses and all of his muscles tense, but he hardly moves any at all. Steve wonders for a second, with growing fear, how he must have been trained to withstand pain without moving.

White froth turns a deep pink and Steve gently dabs away any excess liquid across the cut before grabbing the gauze and bandaging it up. The brunette is shaking, quivering under his fingertips and Steve can only imagine the pain that radiates from the gash.

“Sorry…,” Steve murmurs. Bucky’s quick to grab the sweatshirt and pull it over his head. He winces slightly, but manages to straighten it out. Though, Steve takes his hand, holds it in his own for a second. It’s warm and calloused and Bucky watches him warily.

“I missed you,” he admits, letting his lips brush against the warmth of his skin. The brunette sighs softly, just loud enough for Steve to hear him. He’s shaking. He can feel it in his hand. His whole body quivers with some unsaid fear that he won’t say out loud.

“Is it safe here?” Bucky asks, obviously trying hard to keep the quiver in his voice to a minimum. Steve nods, lets himself press his lips to the back of his hand.

“It’s safe. I’ll keep watch… Okay?” he tells him, looking up to the brunette again. Bucky pauses, nods, and lets the softest of smiles drift across his lips, if only for a moment. Steve moves to his feet and Bucky mirrors the action.

“You can sleep, okay? I’ll keep watch,” Steve murmurs. The brunette nods and follows him as he walks to the bedroom. Of course, it isn’t very large, but Bucky seems to appreciate it, slipping his shoes off and leaving them by the bedside.

“Stay,” Bucky murmurs, almost orders to Steve. Steve blinks, almost confused, but complies, slipping into one of the adjacent chairs as Bucky slips under the covers of the bed. Pretty soon, all that he can hear are the soft snores of the other male and it doesn’t take long for himself to slip to sleep either.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick beginning chapter to get things rolling. Story will develop as chapters are posted.


End file.
